I can’t see the last names above the lockers because reading is done with your central vision, and macular degeneration erases all those details your central vision takes in. The retina specialist believes the markers for macular degeneration have always been present, but the concussion brought that to their attention. And the lesion on my brain, well that little sucker has advanced the disease rapidly. One bad hit has changed my life, and not for the better.
Picking up my cell, I murmur into the microphone requesting a rideshare. The retina specialist mentioned a vision-impaired software that could help me navigate tools on my phone. After the request is complete, I take off my skates and change into my Converse.
They’re custom-made with the Warriors colors—blue sides, red tongue, and white laces. I pull my coat on and stuff my wallet into a pocket. Hopefully, my memory can help me navigate my way to the sidewalk outside the arena.
Luck seems to be on my side as no one roams the halls. I don’t have to explain why I’m not out practicing with the team. Don’t have to see questions in the eyes of others.
Like you can see thatdetail anyway.
The ride home is silent the whole way. After thanking the driver and telling my phone to leave a thirty percent tip, I ride up the condo elevator to the top floor. Thankfully, I don’t have to worry about money because I’m sure the drive to and from the stadium costs a pretty penny. Maybe I need to find out if hiring a driver for the foreseeable future would actually be cheaper.Figure that out later.
I drop my keys onto the foyer table, and the tinkling sound informs me the keys made it into the dish. My cell rings.
“Hello?”
“Jabari, son, how are you?”
My eyes squeeze tight. “Hey, Mom.”
“We haven’t chatted in a while. I heard on the news you had a concussion.”
Yikes. I meant to tell her, I really did, but I can’t just drop information like that on my mom. Not without making sure she has a support system or that I can assuage any fears she may have. Unfortunately, there’s nothing good about my prognosis, and I don’t want her to worry unnecessarily.
I make my way into the living room and sink into the recliner. It’s my video-game chair, but recovering from the concussion means I haven’t played in a month.
I clear my throat, trying to figure out the right words so she won’t panic. “Actually, yeah, I did get a concussion. A pretty bad one.”
“How bad?” She sucks in a breath. “How come I had to hear it on the news? Are you okay now?”
Great. She’s panicking. “Mom, I didn’t want to worry you.”
Silence slaps my ears. Uh-oh. She’s upset. Will she at least try to understand my reasoning?
“Tell me what’s wrong.” Her voice is strong, sure.
Youcan do this. Just tell her.“I have a pretty bad concussion. There’s a lesion on my brain that may be exacerbating symptoms of macular degeneration, which they believe to have been asymptomatic prior to the concussion.”
“The eye disease? Don’t you lose your vision with that?”
She’s heard about it? “I can lose my central vision, yes.” Usually older people get the disease, not someone in their thirties.
“How can you play like this?”
Isn’t that the million-dollar question? “I don’t know, Mom.” I draw in a breath. “Pleasedon’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.” I don’t believe that one hundred percent, but she can’t know that.
“Jabari.” She sniffles. “I appreciate how you’ve always cared for me, but isolating me from hard things isn’t helpful either.”
How can Inotdo that? I’ve been doing so for so long. “I’ll try not to.”Lies.I’ll do it every single time if I think it’ll prevent her from spiraling into a deep depression.
“Okay.” Her voice sounds small.Toosmall.
Already my mind wonders how much this’ll affect her mental health. Is she going to spiral? Will this be her final breaking point?
“Mom, you promise you won’t worry about me?”
“You’re my son. But maybe ... maybe a visit will help?”
Ithasbeen a while since we’ve seen each other. “Okay. I’m not participating in practices, so I have more free time. Though I’ll still have to be present for game days.”
